


I Know You Know

by TheCatWrites



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Angst, Complete, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-05
Updated: 2012-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-30 15:40:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCatWrites/pseuds/TheCatWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shaun gets a taste of the bleeding effect, and finds out it lives up to its name in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bad Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a stand alone, meant for me to get into writing from Shaun's POV and practice his interactions with Desmond before embarking on a larger endeavor. Also an excuse to get this sex scene out of my head and onto the internet where it belongs :3

I Know You Know: Chapter 1

_Le Chevalier Guillaume LeBlanc scratched at his chafing neck. His squire had forgotten to ask the armorer to replace the leather straps that held his mail shirt closed, and the damn things had given out just as they made their first charge. Boy had a mind like a cage trap, unreliable and full of holes. At the first lull in the action, the knight had gotten one of his men to re-buckle his armor, but only the last hole was left of the top strap and the mail rings were rubbing at the junction of his neck and shoulder every time he lifted his sword._

_Sensing its master’s bad mood, his charger stamped and shifted uneasily. He took a deep breath to calm himself and patted the horse’s neck through its quilted armor to quiet it. Wouldn’t do to have the beast spook and throw him while they were re-forming the battle lines. The first charge had gone well for the cavalry, but the infantry had taken heavy casualties from enemy archers, and without their support the knights had been fighting hard for every inch of ground. He watched the stretcher bearers jogging back and forth, grabbing the dead and wounded from the field and carrying them to the doctors, priests, or undertakers. Crows, vultures, and their human counterparts swarmed the field, stripping corpses and near-corpses of loot, running off whenever a stretcher bearer got too close. They avoided the high-born, but many of the common soldiers were practically naked by the time they were carried off._

_He shifted in his saddle and winced. An arrow had found its way between the plates of his armor and stuck in his calf. It hadn’t been a bad wound, more fabric caught than flesh, but it hurt more and more as the day went on. He couldn’t wait for night to fall so they could fall back, have a drink, and leave the fighting to the archers and trebuchets. He couldn’t wait for this whole useless war to be over, actually. He should be at home on his estate, with the harvest getting ready to come in, and his wife and children. He’d have a new son or daughter by now. He wondered which it was. A son would, of course, be preferable, to give Jerome a younger brother to rely on for support in matters of managing the estate, as Guillaume himself relied on his own younger sibling. But he had to admit he wouldn’t mind another daughter. Now that Elise was grown, and a lovely young woman she had become, he missed the sound of his little girl’s laughter filling the halls and making the manor house seem more like home._

_His reverie was broken by the sounds of screaming coming from the infirmary tents. He pulled his thoughts back to the battlefield. He’d be no use to his freeholders, wife, or anybody if he got himself killed because he was daydreaming about home when he should be concentrating on the fight._

_The screaming increased in volume, and Guillaume crossed himself, muttering a prayer to God to end the poor man’s suffering, one way or another…_

He jerked awake, head fuzzy with confusion. The screaming was coming from inside the room, now…but hadn’t he just been out with the men, re-forming the line? “ _Ce que l’enfer…_ ” he muttered, and the sound of his own voice was strange to him. Then, with a sudden sensation of falling into his own body, he remembered. _Shaun. That’s me. I’m Shaun. Shaun Hastings. I’m at the Villa Auditore with my team. It’s 2012._

And somebody really was screaming. He jumped to his feet, ready to fight if necessary, and saw that Miles had fallen off his camp cot onto the floor and was thrashing in his sleep, blanket tangled tightly around his legs. From the sounds ripping out of his throat, whatever dream or memory had hold of him was nothing good.

 _Jesus, I bloody well told Lu he needed a break!_ Shaun was on his knees next to the other Assassin in a flash, risking a punch in the face by grabbing his shoulders to shake him awake.

So fast he couldn’t follow, the bigger man had him pinned on the floor, forearm pressing down on his trachea. Brown eyes narrowed to dark slits showed no recognition at all as they searched his face. “ _Non ti conosco. Stai Templare?_ ”

Oh.

Shite.

Shaun’s Italian was basic at best, and it was hard to think in a foreign language while scrabbling for purchase at the arm across his throat, which may as well have been made of iron rebar for all he could get it to move. “ _Non sono!_ ” he choked out, “ _Sono Assassino! Sono collego!_ ”

“ _Dimostrarlo._ ”

Bloody hell. He wracked his brain for evidence that would convince the 16th century Mentor of the Order. _The Oath, you pillock, he means the Oath!_ his oxygen-deprived brain screamed at him. Wheezing, he managed, “ _Er…lavoriamo nel…_ shite, what’s dark… _oscuritá! Nel oscuritá, per servire la luce!_ ”

“ _Dispiace, amico_.” The pressure eased and Shaun gulped in a breath, which caught and turned into a hacking cough. Meanwhile, Miles – or Ezio? – looked around the room, confusion spreading across his features. “ _La villa? Ma, dove sono le Templare? E Laura, dov’é Laura? Habbiamo stato nel nave di…di…_ ” He shook his head and pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets.

For a count of thirty seconds, he stayed so still that Shaun wasn’t even sure he was breathing. Just as the historian was getting his courage up to move, to find Rebecca and ask for help, Miles let out a sobbing breath and his head snapped up, eyes wild, searching the room. When they landed on Shaun’s face this time, he saw the relief that flooded them and knew the episode had passed.

Tentatively, he reached out to pat Miles on the shoulder. “It’s all right, Miles. You’re okay. It wasn’t real.” God but he was bad at the sympathy thing. That was the girls’ job, he was just supposed to provide historical background. And sarcasm, though that was more of a self-appointed position.

Apparently Miles wasn’t in a position to reject comfort when it was offered, as he grabbed Shaun’s hand and held on so tight the historian could feel the bones rubbing together. “But it _was_ real!” he said, voice breaking. “They caught me and I wasn’t going to tell them anything but Laura, they had Laura and they were bleeding her, and I know we’re supposed to place the mission above all else but dammit, Shaun, she has a _kid_ and _I_ recruited her and it would’ve been _my_ fault and I couldn’t…I just couldn’t…” his eyes welled up and a pair of tears streaked down his face.

Shaun could actually _see_ the poor bastard shaking, shudders and flinches running through his body like a man in the grip of a fever. “Oh, Christ almighty, Miles,” he sighed, for a number of different reasons, not least of which was the resemblance his tone of voice was starting to bear to Lucy’s recordings of Sixteen. An unfamiliar emotion wrapped around his heart and it took a moment for him to identify it as sympathy. _Well, that’s a new one_.

With an exasperated huff, Shaun shifted closer to Miles and put his hands on the man’s shoulders, making eye contact. “Listen to me, Miles,” he said, “They got Ezio, not you. And whoever this Laura was, she _had_ a kid. Whatever her life was, she’s been dead for centuries now. Remember, the memories aren’t yours. It’s not _happening_ , it already _has happened_. You can no more change the events they show you than you can change what you see in a recorded video.”

Shaking his head, Miles protested, “But I… _he_ …when I’m him, there are options, and I’m making choices… _he’s_ making choices…”

“I know. It seems like it’s happening in the present. But you’re experiencing it _exactly as he did_ , meaning every time you go back to the same memory, it will seem like the first time it’s happening. And for him, it will be. You’re riding along in his brain, his thoughts, so even though it _seems_ like a different choice could be made, like outcomes could be changed, that’s an illusion. Whatever happened in history is what will happen in the memory, every single time.”

Nodding, Miles rubbed his arm across his eyes. The shakes had subsided, though his breathing was still erratic and he looked like he was just on the edge of freaking out. “Right, I know that, I know…but it _feels_ like…”

Shaun nodded. “Just…don’t dwell on it too much, mate. It’ll take you over if you let it.” _Like Sixteen_ was the implied ending, but he didn’t dare say it aloud. None of them talked much about the kid, not around Miles, not at all, and especially not Lucy.

Speaking of whom, Shaun knew he had to go find her and tell her about this. She’d asked to be informed of severe instances of the bleeding effect, so she could lighten up the schedule and give Miles more time as himself when he needed it. He stood up to leave, only to be dragged back down by Miles’ vice grip on his hand. “Miles, I need that back now,” he said, trying to extricate himself.

“No. I mean, not yet. Please.” Miles looked down, embarrassed. “Just…I know you’re going to tell the girls, and they’re going to get all concerned over me and I just…can’t handle that right now. With you, at least I know I’m not being pitied,” his lips curled in a wry grin, “Or even liked all that much.” The smile faded. He glanced up at Shaun. “Just another minute. I need another person around. Makes it easier to stay…grounded.”

“Fine.” Shaun sat back down, cross-legged, and rested his chin in the hand not currently commandeered by Miles. _Never noticed how big his hands are_ , he brushed the thought away. “But I’m not your bloody security blanket, right?” he said. “So don’t be thinking about making this a regular occurrence.”

After a while, Shaun could see some of the tension leave Miles’ shoulders, as the other man sat up a bit straighter and took a deep, if shaky, breath, held it, and let it out. “I think I’m good now,” he said. “Thanks for waking me up. And for staying.”

“Don’t mention it.” Shaun stood, pulling Miles up with him. “And I really mean that, don’t tell the girls. They’ll think I’ve gone soft.”

Miles snorted. “Ha! Right. You’re about as soft as a hammer. But don’t worry, I won’t tell them.” He let go of Shaun’s hand, which felt suddenly cold.

 _I could offer to stay longer_ , Shaun thought, and he even opened his mouth to say the words, but Miles had turned away, was picking his blanket up off the stone floor, shaking it out. The moment had passed. Shaun turned and went across the hall to tell Lucy they were working short hours the next day.


	2. Bleeding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaun finds out why Desmond was screaming the other night.

I Know You Know: Chapter 2

_The bandits had struck just as the wedding party, with Elise and Olivier riding at its head, turned to cross the bridge. The road was narrow there, and the slope down to the river meant that the robbers had the advantage. Guillaume knew in his gut that it was the Baron’s doing, petty revenge for speaking out against him at court. He’d known this was coming for some time, in one form or another. But to attack a wedding! Only the most depraved lunatic would dare._

_Guillaume stood in front of his daughter, one hand on her horse’s bridle, the other on the hilt of his sword. He spoke in a measured tone, “You may have everything that the rest of the wedding party carries, but you will leave the bride be. I think this is more than fair, yes?” To show that he meant what he said, he untied his purse from his belt and handed it to the man who’d come forward to speak for the group of raiders._

_“Certainly you are a gentleman of intelligence, sir!” the dirty ruffian exclaimed with mocking formality. “This is a much more civilized way to do things. Nobody wants to see blood shed during the sacrament of marriage, least of all a humble sinner such as myself.” He hefted the purse and grinned at the clink of gold coins. “And it appears there is no reason for such an event to occur. You heard him, boys. Get their gold and let’s get gone!”_

_Olivier, stiff-backed and stone faced, handed over his purse as well, and the expensive decorative dagger he wore at his waist. Up the line of guests went the bandits, making exaggerated bows to the nobles as they stripped them of money and jewelry._

_Guillaume watched as they neared the end of the line. So far the guests had all listened to his advice, but the tension was rising and could only reach a certain point before…_

_“Non! You may have my purse, and even my rings, but my father’s sword you shall only have as I put it through your guts, swine!” One of his men shouted. There was a scuffle, and a few of the women screamed, and then all hell broke loose as guests either scattered for the woods or drew their weapons to fight the bandits._

_Guillaume leapt onto the big white mare carrying his daughter and maneuvered her next to Olivier’s gelding. He lifted Elise out of the saddle and set her behind Olivier, moving forward and putting his feet in the stirrups. “Get her to the house! Tell the guard to assemble, and bar the doors! If I do not return by morning, call up the freeholders to arms. The Baron will not get away with this!” He drew his sword._

_Olivier nodded. “You are certain it is he, then?”_

_“Yes. No bandits would dare attack my people if they did not have a powerful employer, and only he has any reason to do something like this. Now, keep my daughter safe. Go!” He shoved at the gelding until it was facing the road to the house, then gave it a smack on the rump with the flat of his sword. The animal, already keyed up from the scuffle, let out a neigh of fright and took off for home._

_Guillaume put his heels into the mare’s ribs and she laid her ears back and broke into a canter, shoving her way up the line. She was a retired war horse, headed for the butcher’s block when he’d bought her for her snowy white coat and gentle disposition with children. Elise, Jerome, and Noelle had all learned to ride on her back, but she still remembered battle. He directed her at the bandits’ leader and she bared her teeth, bowling the man over, then pivoting in a tight circle to allow Guillaume a stab at him with his weapon. The bandit slashed wildly at the knight, laying open a cut on his forearm, but his sword was already swinging down. The blade impacted the man’s shoulder with all of the Chevalier’s rage behind it, nearly taking his entire arm off. He dropped and moved no more._

_By that time, the men had managed to fight off most of the bandits, but not without a few wounded and killed in the wedding party. One Lady knelt over her husband, shrieking, as her daughters stood beside her, clinging to one another and sobbing. Two women, both servants who’d served the LeBlanc family for many years and had been chosen by Elise to carry the train of her wedding dress, lay fallen one atop the other. Guillaume saw red. “To me!” He cried, raising his sword. “We must bring the dead and wounded to the house, and don our armor. Tonight, we hunt!” A cheer, ragged at first and then building to a roar, rose from the men. The Baron had made his last mistake._

Slowly, Shaun swam up to consciousness through the murk of dream/memory. He lay still, checking his surroundings. He remembered where he was immediately this time, in the makeshift dorm they’d set up in Claudia’s old office. Good. No French thoughts, no disconcerting feeling of suddenly being elsewhere. He cracked an eyelid open, surveying his blurry surroundings. Morning light was starting to peek in through the windows. It looked like it was going to be an overcast day.

He rolled over onto his side and pulled the covers up around his shoulders, snuggling down as best he could on the slightly-too-short camp cot. Lucy would be at the door soon. She came over from the girls’ room, in the old armory across the hall, every morning to make sure the boys were awake on time. He wasn’t getting up one second sooner than he had to.

A twinge of pain made him open his eyes. Shifting, he worked his right arm out from under the blanket and felt around on the floor for his glasses. World in focus once more, he inspected his arm. What he saw made him sit up and say aloud, “There is no _fucking way_.”

A red and purple welt, bruised and swollen, was developing on his forearm in the exact same place Guillaume had been cut by the bandit’s knife. The skin wasn’t broken, but there was no mistaking the positioning of the injury.

“Got caught in a fight, huh?” The deep voice from across the room startled him. Miles was awake as well, lying propped up on one elbow. His hair, which had grown out a bit since they rescued him from Abstergo, stuck out at odd angles.

“Yes, I was…how did you know?”

“You were shouting in French.”

“What did I say?”

“ _Je vais les tuer tous_. And something about a daughter.”

 _Yes, Elise,_ ma fille. _I hope Olivier got her home…no, sodding idiot, I_ know _he got her home, It’s_ history _now and she had kids of her own so of_ course _he got her home, she’s not my daughter she’s my great great great a lot of sodding greats grandmother. Get a grip, Hastings!_ Still a little numb with disbelief, Shaun poked at the bruise. It hurt, a lot. “I don’t understand,” he muttered.

“Understand what?”

Holding out the injured arm so Miles could see it, Shaun explained, “I’ve been through this memory once already, in the Animus. You were there, you saw. Guillaume is at his daughter’s wedding, the Baron’s hired thugs attack the party but the men fight them off. Guillaume goes home, gets his arm bandaged, puts his armor on and takes his men into the woods to kill all the bandits. He falls off his horse, and takes a crossbow bolt to the leg, but survives and all the bandits are captured or killed. Then we ended the session. There was nothing wrong with me when I got out of the Animus. No bruises, no aches other than from sitting still for an hour. So what the _hell_ is going on _here_?” He pointed at the bruise.

Miles shrugged. “I have no idea. My best guess is the Animus creates something like a buffer between the part of your mind that’s _you_ , and the part that’s _them_ , during the sessions. So you’re more aware that even though you’re experiencing things, they’re not happening to _you_ , the real you, sitting in the chair. You can pause or get out whenever you want, or go kind of, like, out-of-body if something’s really bad but you still need to see it. But when it’s _not_ the Animus controlling the memory, especially if it happens when you’re asleep, there’s no buffer there. As far as your brain’s concerned, it’s all real and happening _right now_. So your body reacts to injuries the same way it would if they really happened, bruising, swelling, tight muscles, pain. Just not the actual injury it’s reacting to. Lemme guess, that started out as the knife wound Guillaume took, right?”

Nodding, Shaun couldn’t help but stare at the other man. He’d never heard so many words out of his mouth at the same time, and certainly none so intelligent. Maybe there was more going on there than he’d given him credit for.

 _And speaking of more going on_ , he realized, “Does that mean you’ve been…experiencing this effect? Last week, when I woke you up, you said the Templars had you – Ezio – on a ship somewhere. Whatever was going on, it was nothing good. Did the memory…?”

Wordlessly, Miles sat up and hooked a finger under the hem of his cotton pajama shirt, pulling it up to partially expose his abs. Crisscrossing the muscles, ruining the effect that a wonderfully sculpted bare torso would otherwise have had on Shaun’s imagination, were several angry-looking stripes of red, raised skin in various stages of healing. There were even a few blisters that had formed along some of the lines, reacting as if to a first-degree burn. He guessed that whatever the Templars had done to Ezio had been particularly unpleasant.

Shaun’s first instinct was to reach out and brush his fingers across the wounds, but he squashed _that_ down right quick. Instead, he said, “Lucy’s going to need to know about this.”

Miles let his shirt drop, which allowed Shaun’s gaze to return to his face. “Nope. She can’t know. She already schedules short days when I have a bad…episode. I appreciate it, but as you all keep telling me we’re pretty damn short on time here. If she knew about this she’d make our sessions even shorter, and we can’t afford to waste any time that I could possibly spend as Ezio, getting closer to that memory. We’ve gotta get to the Apple first, no matter what. You know I’m right.”

“But don’t you think-“ Shaun started to protest, when there was a knock on the door and Lucy popped her head into the room.

“Up early, boys?” She said, smiling cheerily. “Well, let’s not waste any time, then. Baby’s all cued up, and there’s coffee and scrambled eggs, and Rebecca got her hands on some zeppole. So get dressed and downstairs, chop chop!” She clapped her hands and disappeared.

 _Bloody insufferable morning people_. “I’m telling her.”

“You are not,” Miles said, standing and shedding his blanket. Shaun studied the ceiling, as had become his morning routine. There was a water stain that looked like Godzilla if he squinted right. “And I’ll tell you why,” the big American continued, shucking off his pajamas _don’t look Hastings don’t look_ and pulling on his uniform of jeans, t-shirt, and hoodie. “Because if you did, you’d have to show them what happened to your arm. And while me they have to let in, they’d ban _you_ from the Animus altogether.”

Teeth grinding, Shaun glared at the man’s smug face. “I liked you better before you met Machiavelli,” he said.

Miles put on an innocent face. “Why, Shaun, whatever do you mean? _I’ve_ never met Machiavelli.”

“Oh, you _know_ what I mean, you sanctimonious, oversized waste of perfectly good grey matter!”

Crossing his arms, Miles raised an eyebrow. “Fine. Tell them. It’s no skin off my nose. You’re the one who’ll have to give up the Animus. And admit it,” he grinned, and a gleam came into his eye and suddenly he bore a lot of resemblance to his Italian ancestor, “they’d have to pry that hour of time every day away from your cold, dead hands. Because it’s _amazing_.”

Standing up, Shaun turned his back and pulled his shirt over his head so he wouldn’t have to look the other man in the eye as he answered, “Yes. Yes it is.”


	3. Recruit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desmond can't finish this memory. Shaun doesn't blame him.

I Know You Know: Chapter 3

While the most sensitive equipment was in the villa’s sanctuary, underground where satellites couldn’t penetrate, the Assassins didn’t have to spend all their time down there. As long as they didn’t have a cell phone or other device that could be tracked on them, they could go into the town if they wanted, keeping in contact using short-wave radios. And thanks to Lucy’s assiduous scheduling, with sixteen hours a day of work broken by ten minutes for lunch in the middle, leaving nearly eight solid hours for sleep every night, everyone had the opportunity to trade an hour’s sleep for time out in the town. Yet, until a week after Shaun’s discovery that the bleeding effect lived up to its name in more than one way, he’d have put down good money that none of them would take an hour off for love or money. He could understand. This was the impending apocalypse they were trying to prevent after all. As deadlines went, that was the kind one tended to work hard to meet.

Not that any of them were getting eight hours of sleep a night, either. Rebecca spent her nights hunched over her workstation, programming drivers for Baby or making minute changes to circuit board layouts, muttering about better sync rates, reduced bleeding effect, and more organized memory timeline access. She’d also agreed to keep the monitors on after each work session so Shaun could have an hour of his own in the Animus as Guillaume. He knew he was crazy to keep using the Animus after seeing what the bleeding effect had done to Miles, yet somehow he couldn’t make himself stop. And, damn it all, the man had been right. In the entire week since waking up with a five-century-old knife wound on his arm, Shaun had had plenty of opportunities to tell Lucy about it. Instead, he’d kept his mouth shut and his sleeves rolled down, and still eagerly awaited his turn to sit in the damn thing every night. It was like he was watching someone die of lung cancer and still lighting up once a day. Insane.

He sighed, staring at the masses of historical data open in tabs on his screen. It had been a long, slow, frustrating day. Not only were they no closer to the memory they really needed, smack in the middle of a corrupted sequence, but early that morning Desmond had stumbled on one of Sixteen’s little gifts. The piece of code turned out to be a tag on a certain sequence, earlier than the one they were trying to get to. Rebecca tried to open it up, but no sooner had it loaded than Miles desynchronized and the Animus returned him to the blank white “waiting room,” then spat him back into his most recent moment as Ezio. At first they thought the sequence was another corrupted one, but then Rebecca figured out Sixteen had attached a kind of password to it. Accessing it required completion of yet _another_ , earlier memory.

So Miles, as Ezio, had been running around all of Rome, delivering messages, recruiting allies, completing contracts, and generally being extremely boring. There was literally no language, not even _La Bella Lingua_ , that could make business talk sound interesting. The team had learned more in the past day about the minutiae of managing a cadre of Assassins in the Renaissance than they ever wanted to, especially Shaun, who’d been reading through everything he had on Rome in the years leading up to the memory Sixteen had tagged, looking for events that might be connected to Ezio to try to pinpoint the “key” memory.

He glanced at his screen and sighed. “Oh _look_ , yet _another_ meeting on the rooftop of somebody’s palazzo. What are we doing this time? Grocery shopping for Machiavelli’s grandmother? Helping Il Volpe with his gardening? Ooh, no, I know, we must be killing Cesare’s _bloody tailor_.”

“ _Shaun_ ,” Lucy snapped, “If you’re not going to help, then shut up.”

“Yeah, man, normally I find you kind of entertaining, but today it’s just kind of annoying,” said Rebecca. “Sorry.”

“No, sorry, no, I understand,” he said, rubbing at his eyes. It felt like the backs of his eyeballs were fusing to his skull from lack of sleep. “Just been having trouble sleeping, is all. Shutting up and getting back to work, now.”

After his hour as the Chevalier each night, Shaun retreated to his cot with his laptop and did his damnedest to keep up with the vast amount of work he still owed the other teams out in the field. It wasn’t out of a sense of duty or anything so noble as that. It was more that he’d found that if he worked until he could barely type “the” without misspelling it more than once, he didn’t dream in French. He did feel a bit guilty on occasion that missions were being held up or canceled because he couldn’t provide intel fast enough, but the others understood. At the very beginning of this whole mess, years ago, when the Station Heads were arguing about the wisdom of planting a mole in Abstergo, the Mentor did something that hadn’t been done in sixty years and invoked his Final Decision privileges. Assassins weren’t military and didn’t really have “orders.” Teams or individuals received assignments, but how those assignments were to be completed was up to them.

So while the goal had been to get the Animus technology, and with it the Apple, away from the Templars, the method had been hotly debated. But a Mentor could make a Final Decision, meaning that what he said, went. It was a risky move. The last Final Decision, made during World War Two, had met with unanimous support, but prior to that there had been several near-disasters for the Order when dissident members broke off to try to start their own factions. One Mentor, during the Civil War, was even killed by his House Commanders as he issued the decision, his orders only coming to light later when several messengers, not receiving a telegram saying to hold, delivered letters of instruction to the Assassins assigned to the task.

So when Will called all the House Commanders together, everyone knew there were orders coming down. Shaun stared at the page in front of him, something about tax collection, not really seeing it. _Oh, Will. You could have come to me first_. Before he took over as Mentor, Will had been the one who recruited Shaun into the Order in the first place. Following in his ancestors’ footsteps, the older Assassin had taken a personal interest in the lives of his recruits, and he’d been the father figure Shaun never really had back in England. Will was a Medic, and as a Historian and fellow non-field-operative, Shaun had spent the most one-on-one time with him out of all his recruits. So the fact that the first he heard of the plan was when he received his orders had cut Shaun deep. _Of all people, I’d have thought you would trust me to do what you asked, without being ordered_. Even a text message would’ve been better than orders.

A hand waved between his face and his screen. “Heeey, we’ve said your name like six times,” Rebecca leaned in, “You really that interested in this tax stuff?”

“What? Oh, Christ no, and I never want to meet someone who _does_ find it that interesting. I wasn’t really even reading it. Just…had some trouble sleeping last night, that’s all. Couldn’t get comfortable.” _Not much of a lie, that. I’m never comfortable falling asleep now that I know I could wake up someone else_.

“Oh, ok. Well, listen, Lu and I need a quick snack break and this memory looks like it’s on the fast track to boringville. So we’re running upstairs for a minute, can you watch and make sure Dezzie doesn’t spike into the red while we’re up there?”

Stretching, Shaun nodded. “Sure. Great. You go, leave me here alone with the comatose wonder and no new history to educate him on. I’ll just sit here in silence.”

“Good. It’ll be a new experience for you.” Lucy was already by the door. Rebecca joined her. “If anything happens, don’t touch anything. Come get me or Lu. We’ll be back pretty quick though. Want anything out of the fridge?”

“An Aranciata wouldn’t go amiss.”

“’Kay, we’ll grab you one. Remember, _don’t touch Baby_.”

Shaun held his hands up. The girls turned and left.

It got even more boring in the Sanctuary, something he hadn’t thought possible.

On one of his monitors, Shaun pulled up the video feed from the Animus. It had two options, a first-person view that actually projected what the person in the Animus was seeing, and a third-person view generated by the computer. The third-person animation was decent, though some facial expressions still tended to fall into the uncanny valley. Next to the video was a set of vital signs readouts, monitoring things like brain activity, heart rate, and respiration, among others.

Shaun watched a few minutes of the memory, leaning his elbows on his desk.

Ezio had reached the top of the palazzo to find Il Volpe waiting there with a girl Shaun didn’t recognize, about 20 from the look of her, wearing the black and dark red waist sash of a brand-new Assassin recruit, not even out of training. “I took the liberty,” said Il Volpe, bowing to Ezio and indicating the girl. “She was defending her family’s farmhouse against some bandits. Not of my guild, mind, just common thugs. They won, but she was vastly outnumbered at the outset, and not so vastly by the time I arrived. She shows great promise. But of course, the final decision is yours, and that is why we are here.”

Holding out his hand, Ezio waited until the girl realized what he wanted and laid her hand in his, palm up. “Callused from work, good. You won’t have as much pain learning to use a sword,” he said. He took a slow walk around her. “Tall, that is good as well, gives you a longer reach in a fight and longer stride when running. Slender, good for shaking off guards in their bulky armor. What is your name, _signorina_?”

“Laura Boccanera. And may I ask yours?” Her tone was confident, almost challenging.

Ezio’s mouth quirked at one corner as he tried to hide a smile. “Ezio Auditore, at your service.”

The girl’s eyes got as wide as saucers, and her hands came up to cover her mouth. “Oh, you are…you are _the_ Ezio, the…what is the term? The new leader of the Order!”

Il Volpe laughed at that. “Yes, child, he is indeed our new _Mentore_. But don’t let that fool you into thinking he knows what he’s doing.”

Ezio growled and shoved at Il Volpe’s shoulder. “Better I than you, old fox. You’d soon turn us all into killers for hire.”

“Are we not?”

Suddenly the Assassin’s eyes got very serious. “No. We are not. We are occasionally paid for a death, it is true, but we take no contract solely because of payment offered, nor do we turn down a contract merely because of lack of payment. We work in the dark, yes, and we remind ourselves of that with every new recruit, but every time we must also repeat the injunction: To serve the light. Never forget that, Volpe. Now be gone, I must test this girl and you will only get in the way and make snide comments.”

Il Volpe bowed deeply to Ezio and backed toward the edge of the roof. “My apologies, _Mentore_. Of course you are right. Come and find me at the “Inn” if you need my services.” He dropped off the edge of the roof. The recruit gasped and ran to look over, but by then the wily master of thieves had disappeared.

“Magic!” She exclaimed.

Ezio laughed. “No, girl, though I see how you might think so. If you climb our ranks, you will soon learn to do the same. Now, before the test, I’m afraid I must ask your name once more. Volpe’s comments distracted me.”

“I am Laura, _signore_ Auditore, Laura Boccanera.”

 _Laura_ , Shaun repeated to himself, _where have I heard that name?_ He did a search of his files for mention of an Assassin named Laura, or Boccanera, but nothing came up.

Ezio bowed to her. “ _Piacere, signorina_. And please, call me Ezio. I have not been _signore_ Auditore for a long time.”

“You sound sad when you say that.”

The master Assassin gave her a startled look, then let out a laugh. “Ha! Well, there is one part of the test done. You are good at reading what is behind the words of a person. We shall move on, then. What can you do? Can you swim, ride a horse, run fast? Can you climb? Can you use a weapon?”

“I can ride,” she said, “and swim a little. I’m a good runner. I can climb, or I thought I could before I saw you and Il Volpe reach this rooftop. I am not trained in any weapons, but my brother is a member of the guard in our town and he taught me a bit how to use a sword. I help with the farm, so I’m strong. Is there anything else?”

Ezio shook his head. “No more questions. You sound like a promising candidate, but we shall soon see. Your first test starts now: Get down to the street without being seen. I will meet you there.” With that, he took a running leap off the edge of the roof, landed in a roll on the slightly lower roof of the building next door, and flipped over its gutter, launching off to land in a large hay cart below.

The memory skipped erratically and faded out. According to the screen it hadn’t ended, and Shaun stood to run upstairs and fetch Rebecca, but the Animus beeped and he realized Miles had ended the memory of his own accord. He walked over to the side of the Animus to help Miles unplug.

The man hadn’t moved, hadn’t sat up like he usually did. He’d only brought his free arm up to block his eyes from view. “Everything all right?” Shaun asked, concerned. Miles sometimes got headaches before the bleeding effect set in.

Miles nodded. “Just get me out of this thing,” he said. His voice was hoarse.

“Right.” Shaun walked around to Rebecca’s chair and sat at her computer, typing in the command that disconnected the Animus from the user’s brainwaves, like disconnecting an external data device from a computer. He wondered if unplugging the cord without disconnecting would cause the same error message to pop up on screen, “Warning: Your device was not properly disconnected…”

Without waiting for help, Miles ripped the cord out of his own arm and sat up, facing away from Shaun. He put his hands on the edge of the chair and rocked forward as if to stand up, then seemed to fold in on himself and Shaun bolted up, practically vaulting over the Animus to kneel in front of him.

Miles’ eyes were shut tight and his teeth were showing in a grimace. Shaun’s first thought was that he was in pain, but then he noticed the tears streaming down and suddenly he flashed back to the only other time he’d ever seen Miles cry, months ago, just after they arrived at the villa, and his voice had been so desperate as he wailed _Laura, they had Laura and they were bleeding her…_

And now here they were again, only this time Miles actually let out a strangled sob, and then another, and then he was really crying and the sound just about broke Shaun’s heart it was so empty of hope. Hearing that come from the normally flippant, upbeat Miles, he realized he’d become used to the man’s cavalier attitude, his easy banter, his refusal to get flustered when Shaun insulted him for his typical American ignorance of world events before the year 1776. The historian had, without even realizing it, come to think of Miles as an ally, a fellow Assassin, rather than an inconvenient barrier between him and his mission objective.

Reaching across the space between them, Shaun hesitated with his hands near Miles’ shoulders, unsure if the man wanted comfort or to be left alone. He got his answer when Miles slid off the edge of the Animus and into his arms, holding onto him so tight he had to shift position so he could breathe. Miles buried his face in Shaun’s shoulder and cried, and Shaun could tell he was feeling guilty. Not for Laura, necessarily, but for something. If there was one thing he’d learned to recognize in this line of work, it was guilt, mixed with a double helping of fear. This time, he knew, reminding Miles that all of it was five hundred years in the past wouldn’t help.

Lucy and Rebecca came downstairs and stopped dead when they saw what was happening. Lucy started into the room but Rebecca put a hand on her shoulder and looked to Shaun, who shook his head. Rebecca nodded and led Lucy, protesting, away.

After some time, Miles’ sobs quieted and he drew away a little, and Shaun let him go. When he took a deep, controlled breath, Shaun moved a bit farther from him and took a more comfortable position on the floor.

Miles looked up at him, eyes red-rimmed. “Well,” his voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “Well, go on,” he said, rubbing a hand across his face.

“Go on what?” Shaun asked, confused.

“Say it. Call me a girl, a wet blanket, whatever you Brits call grown men who cry in the presence of other grown men.”

Shaun shook his head. “No. None of that.” He checked to make sure the girls were still out of earshot. “That was _the_ Laura, right? From that night?”

Nodding, Miles stared at his hands. “The memories that come from the bleeding effect aren’t always…in order, I guess you’d call it, with the ones you access in the Animus. When I had the dream-memory, Laura was just a person in the dream with some information and emotion attached. Ezio knew her, I didn’t. And he wasn’t thinking about much other than how she has…had…a kid, and how he had to save her. But seeing her like that, god, she was so young, and proud, and the way she looked at Ezio like he was her hero…and knowing what’s going to…what was going to happen to her…it’s too awful.”

He looked up at Shaun and there was anger in his eyes. “It’s _all_ too awful. This war, this stupid, stupid war, chewing people’s souls up and spitting out what little is left, over something that could literally prove or disprove so much about history, religion, philosophy, just everything, it’s so horrible to think that Humanity would start a fucking _fight_ over it, a goddamn _vast_ fucking _history-spanning_ war of epic proportions being fought behind almost everybody’s backs. I mean, Jesus, Shaun, if we can’t come together over something like this, is there really any hope for us as a species? Doesn’t this make you think we’re fucking doomed anyway, and it would be better to just give the hell up and let Vidic and his cronies blow us all up with the Temples, instead of try to get the Apple and prolong our useless little lives?”

Shaun stared at him. “Holy shite, Miles,” he said finally, “You need a drink. A lot of drinks. And so do I, for that matter.”

With a ragged-around-the-edges laugh, Miles levered himself up off the floor and offered Shaun a hand. “You’re right about that. C’mon, there’s a _taverna_ in town that’ll still be open at this hour.”


	4. Two Truths and a Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Assassins go out for a drink. Turns out mixing alcohol and neurological symptoms isn't the best idea.

I Know You Know: Chapter 4

The girls were waiting in the Villa’s main hall, and when Lucy found out Shaun and Desmond were heading into town she insisted on coming along, obviously still worried. Miles looked to Shaun, who shrugged and said, “Fine, but I’m not picking up the tab.”

Rebecca raised her hand, “Hey, I’m coming too! No way are you all leaving me here to work while you party!”

And that was how four Assassins found themselves walking down the main street of the tiny town of Monteriggioni late at night. Miles led them to the location of the old apothecary shop, which had been refurbished into a cozy _taverna_. Miles started through the door, but Lucy grabbed his arm. “No. Shaun goes in first.”

“What? Why?” Miles asked.

Shaun sighed. “It’s protocol. I haven’t been active in the field in years, so my face isn’t on the Templars’ radar. You, on the other hand, probably have an APB out on you. And this is the Templars we’re talking about, so it wouldn’t be out of character for them to frame you for murder or terrorism or something, as an excuse to get your face on the evening news and dupe the civilians into helping them. Anyway, I have to go in first and make sure no enemy agents are in there. Technically. Even though we’re in what is basically _Assassin Central Station_ for Italy and southern Europe, and I doubt the Templars would ever want to mess with this place.”

“We have these rules for a _reason_ , Shaun. Now get your ass in there and bring me back a report,” said Lucy.

Miles rolled his eyes. “ _Guys_. I can do the vision thing, remember?”

“Oooh, I’ve always wanted to see that in action!” Rebecca said. “Do it do it!”

“It’s not a bloody _party trick_ , Rebecca,” Shaun pointed out.

She looked sheepish. “Right. Sorry, Dez. Guess I’m just excited to be actually out of the basement.”

“Give me just a second,” Miles pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up and opened the door a crack, poking his head in and looking around like a potential patron checking if the place was still open. “Clear,” he said after a few seconds, and walked on in.

Rebecca was close on his heels, and Lucy went to follow them in, but Shaun held her back. “What the hell?” She snapped, shaking his arm off.

He stepped in close to her, glaring. “You listen to me, Lucy. I know you. You were planning to start interrogating him about what happened in the Sanctuary as soon as we sat down. But don’t you dare. Don’t mention anything about work, actually. He _needs_ to not talk about it right now. You get me?”

Lucy’s eyes narrowed. “Who do you think you _are_ to give me orders, Contractor Hastings?”

Shaun winced at the jab to his pride, couldn’t help but glance at the bracelet Lucy wore, silver with black stones set into it, marking her as an Assassin with a capital A. The Order of Assassins didn’t just throw recruits into the war untrained, or not usually; Miles was a special case. But most recruits went through a lengthy training process, moving through the ranks from Recruit to Assassin. It took years for even the most talented recruit to earn the title, as moving up meant gaining more and more independence in the field. Shaun had been nearly ready to move to the top rank when he was sent to Italy, meaning he was still technically a Contractor, the second-highest rank in the Order, marked as such to other assassins by the silver and green ring he wore on his left index finger.

He shook off the remark. “I’d have been promoted by now if we’d had contact with HQ, and I was recruited years before you, and you know it, so don’t you try pulling rank on me, Lucy. This outing isn’t about us, isn’t about the mission. It’s about Miles, and what he needs right now. We’re the closest thing the poor sod has to friends, and if we can’t be a little human sometimes and set aside protocol and mission priority for the space of _one damn drink_ to save his sanity, then we’re as bad as they are.”

For a second, the specter of Sixteen hung heavy in the air between them, and Lucy’s eyes widened. “Oh, God, Shaun, you’re right. I just…we didn’t get _any_ closer today, and Will’s riding me for results, and Vidic is still out there looking and it just feels like we’re wasting time if we’re not working…but you’re right. You’re right, it’s not wasting time to make sure Desmond is…okay.”

“Damn right it’s not,” Shaun said with a nod, and held the door for her as they went in.

The _taverna_ was about half full with a mixture of tourists and locals. An entirely empty or full establishment would have been more suspicious, sign of a possible ambush, but the activity level seemed pretty normal for an Italian countryside drinking establishment at the end of the wine tourism season. Glancing over the setup of the tables, Shaun and Lucy noticed that Miles had taken the seat with the best view of the whole room, in the corner opposite the door. It was a location that put his back to the wall and gave him a good view of both the front door and the door into the _taverna’s_ kitchen. The assassins exchanged glances as they took seats at the table. When they’d brought Miles to the warehouse, he’d been confused about why all the blinds on the exterior windows had to be kept down. Now it looked like he was casing rooms without even realizing it. _But that’s good_ , Shaun thought as he took the seat next to Miles, across from Rebecca, _that’s what we wanted. Without the Animus he would’ve been weeks just getting to the point where he could analyze a room effectively, much less quickly_. So why did it feel so… _odd_ to actually see him do it?

The waitress came over to take their drink orders and ask if they wanted anything to eat. She set a plate of antipasti and a bottle of sparkling water in the middle of the table before going to give the bartender their order. Rebecca immediately dove in, rolling her eyes in culinary ecstasy. Even late at night, the bread that came with the platter of cheeses, charcuterie, and various spreads was warm and sent up a heavenly smell when they tore chunks off it to slather with hot mustard and layer with pecorino, mortadella, and prosciutto.

Shaun took a huge bite and chewed, slowly, with his eyes shut, letting all the flavors soak into his tastebuds before he swallowed. When he opened his eyes, he saw Miles giving him a weird look. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

“No, just...you must really like Italian food. That’s the first time I’ve seen you without a frown on your face since we got here.”

Lucy let out a laugh and now it was her turn to receive a shocked look from the newest member of their group. “Oh Des, I keep forgetting you don’t know us outside of work. This guy,” she pointed at Shaun, “has a love affair with all things Italian that is a perpetual theme in conversation.”

Shaun felt his face get hot and quickly took a sip of water to fight off the blush he knew was coming. “Look, I’m a historian, right? So is it any wonder that I enjoy talking about the country that housed the seat of the Roman Empire, one of the greatest civilizations of all time and the first to try not only a bicameral government but also what was basically a constitutional monarchy? _And_ the linguistic ancestor of the romance languages, which comprise a total of 47 if you include dialects? _And_ the most scientifically advanced society within two hundred years on either side of its existence?”

“Oh, don’t you dare try to pull off that ‘entirely academic’ B.S. with us sitting right here!” Rebecca exclaimed. She put on an atrocious fake English accent and mugged, “Oooh, and the _beautiful art_ and the _beautiful language_ and the _operatic tradition_ and the _Renaissance masters_ and the _viniculture_ – ow!” She broke off when Shaun, having failed to fight off his rising blush, gave her a vicious poke in the shoulder.

“Okay, that’s enough about me and the Italians. Anyway, _you’re_ just as bad about computers.”

“Well, yeah, but I can geek out about computers back home in the states. You nearly fell over yourself sucking up to Will to try to get this assignment, don’t pretend you didn’t!”

“Yes, fine, I like Italy, I wanted to come here. Can we please talk about something else?”

“Yes, let’s,” said Lucy. “Like how we’re going to get at that memory.”

“I _meant_ something else that wasn’t work,” Shaun gave Lucy a stern look.

Rebecca nodded emphatically, and Miles, who’d taken on an odd, thoughtful look, joined her. “I agree,” he said. “We need a distraction, just for tonight.”

Lucy looked like it physically pained her to use time for anything other than working, but she nodded acquiescence.

The waitress arrived then with their drinks. Lucy had ordered a beer, Rebecca some kind of fizzy gin concoction, Miles a scotch sour, and Shaun a double pour of straight whiskey on the rocks. Nobody could help noticing the way the girl, who was lovely in that dark European way, gave Miles a look that went right through his clothes. She sashayed away and the girls started giggling. Shaun raised an eyebrow at Miles, who shrugged. “It happens,” he said. “I did inherit _some_ good things from my ancestors.”

Shaun had to bite back the reply that popped into his head. Good things indeed. He’d noticed, it was impossible _not_ to notice, and events had conspired to make living with Miles a personal hell for him. He’d been coming off his most recent poor excuse for a relationship when he got the assignment; in fact, it was part of the reason he’d begged so hard to be assigned as Historian to the Abstergo Italy infiltration mission, since a few thousand kilometers pretty much guaranteed he wouldn’t be running into his ex at work. So, having become used to having a partner available on a regular basis, he was suddenly rushed into a situation where not only was there no opportunity for sex, there was no time to even _think_ about it and he’d probably have been too tired to perform even if there had been.

But then Abstergo started threatening to do to Miles what they’d done to his unfortunate predecessor, that is, keep him in the Animus without giving him any breaks at all, and Lucy had moved up the extraction timeline, and Shaun had found himself sharing a small loft over a warehouse with the most attractive man he’d ever seen. And what was the first thing that man’s thrice-damned Italian ancestor did? Jump in bed with a woman, that’s what. So after having known the man exactly one day, which was plenty long enough to determine that yes, he _would_ rather like to shag him, Shaun had to sit there and listen to him make the most incredible _noises_ for a good five minutes until Rebecca figured out how to skip past that memory to a more useful, though entirely more boring, one. And then he’d developed the habit of going out into the warehouse and training with no bloody shirt on. And which window was directly next to Shaun’s workstation? Why the one that looked into the warehouse, of course.

And tonight Miles had actually removed his ubiquitous hoodie, thanks to the warm temperature inside the _taverna_. Underneath he was wearing some of the clothes the girls had gotten for him after his dip in the Villa’s hidden waterways, a rust-red t-shirt and a pair of black jeans that fit tight in all the right places. _Yes that’s right Hastings, fantasize about the man while he’s sitting right bloody there, capital idea_. He could feel himself starting to turn even redder. He went for his drink.

“Wait,” said Lucy as the other three raised their glasses to their lips. “Um…I know this is superstitious of me, but when I was growing up it was kind of supposed to be bad luck if you didn’t make a toast on the first sip of your drink.” She looked down at the table, embarrassed. “I know it’s stupid, but if you guys wouldn’t mind…”

“Aw, girl, you don’t have to worry about that! We’ve all got our superstitions,” Rebecca said. She raised her glass, “To what, then?”

Shaun lifted his glass as well, “To our success. What else?” The other three nodded soberly and raised their drinks, meeting in the middle with a soft clink. Then they took their first sips. Shaun made his a long one, breathing in through his nose as he pulled whiskey through his teeth, then letting the air slowly out as the alcohol rolled across his tongue and burned all the way down the back of his throat. “God, I needed that,” he sighed.

Rebecca suddenly got a light in her eyes, a slightly manic look that Shaun had learned to dread. It meant she’d had an _idea_. Sure enough, she piped up, “Hey, we should totally play a drinking game!”

Miles looked at her like she’d suddenly grown horns, and Lucy’s eyebrows threatened to merge with her hairline. “Really?” she asked, “What is this, a college sorority party? We’re on the freeway to the end of the world with no brakes, and you want to play drinking games?”

Rebecca looked hurt. “Hey, you said yourself that Dezzie doesn’t know us from a rock, right? So, let’s give him a chance to get to know us. And we can find some stuff out about him, too, maybe.” Lucy still looked unsure. Shaun willed her to say no. “Pleeeeeeeeeease?” Rebecca made puppy-dog eyes at Lucy.

Lucy sighed and said, “I feel like I’m going to regret this. All right. What did you have in mind?”

“Two truths and a lie!” Rebecca chirped, bouncing in her seat. The other three gave her blank looks. She looked back in disbelief. “You’re kidding me, you’ve _never_ played two truths and a lie? None of you?” The shook their heads. “Oh wow. You poor deprived little things. Well, I’m here to fix that! Okay, so,” she leaned forward in her seat and held up three fingers. “The rules are simple. Whoever’s turn it is says three facts about his or her self, two truths, one lie. Then the other three have to guess which is the lie, and if they get it wrong they have to drink! And if they get it right the person whose turn it is has to drink. Got it? And remember, nothing about work.”

Nodding, Lucy said, “I was right, I’m definitely going to regret this.”

“Good, then you can go first!” Rebecca grinned evilly.

Lucy sat back in her chair, thinking. “Okay. One, I have double-jointed thumbs. Two, this isn’t my real hair color. Three, in high school I wore a size eighteen.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any way you’d exempt me from this childish attempt at bonding, is there?” Shaun asked.

Rebecca shook her head. “Nope! You have to play too. And my guess is the third one. I can’t believe you were ever not skinny. You were probably captain of the cheerleading team at your school.”

“I was going to go with the thumbs,” said Miles, “But you’re right. I have a hard time imagining Lucy overweight.”

“C’mon Shaun, it’s gotta be all three before it’s an official guess. What’s your opinion?”

Shaun sighed. “I don’t have one. I’ll just go with you two.”

“Okay, three it is! We guess that the third one is the lie,” said Rebecca.

“Nope, it’s the second one. This _is_ my real hair color. Well, mostly. Some of the highlights are left over from undercover, but it’s mostly grown out now. So you all have to drink, right?”

“Right!” Rebecca said, and they each took a sip of their drinks. “Okay Dezzie, you go next!”

Miles actually looked like he was finding this amusing. “Sure. Fact one, I can read sheet music. Fact two, I have three tattoos. Fact three, I love oldies music.”

Lucy said, “Well, we know you’ve got at least one tattoo, and where there’s one there could be more. So I’m gonna say the sheet music is the lie.”

“Yeah, and I’ve heard you humming along with your music, you definitely like the Beatles and Smokey Robinson,” said Rebecca. “So sheet music for me too.”

“Again, I really don’t care,” said Shaun, though he had to admit he was interested to find out which facts were true. “Throwing in with the majority.”

Miles shook his head, smiling. “That’s two wrong guesses in a row. I actually have four tattoos. There’s this one,” he held up his right forearm to point at the snake wrapped around it, “the back piece you’ve probably seen, and two more little ones. See, I got the big pieces done at different places, and each place has to do a little test to see if you’re gonna have an allergic reaction. So one little piece for each big piece. _And_ ,” he put on a mock-hurt expression, “I _do_ know how to read sheet music. I’m not as uncultured as you guys seem to think I am.”

“Terribly sorry, Miles,” Shaun said. “The misunderstanding _may_ stem from your staggering lack of awareness about the history of the human race outside of a basic American high school level.”

“Yes, yes, you’ve already made it clear you think I’m the biggest ignoramus to ever walk the face of the Earth, just because I don’t happen to know what year Cesare Borgia’s sixth cousin died.”

“Cesare Borgia didn’t have a sixth cousin. But when you told me you were surprised that Rodrigo Borgia became Pope, yes, it did cause me a small amount of pain in my soul to realize that I was going to have to spell absolutely everything out for you.”

“ _Okay_ it’s my turn now,” Rebecca said. “So drink and stop bickering.” She took a swig of her drink and launched into her list. “One I used to work for the US government, two I can’t taste blueberries, three my college roomie was Felicia Day.”

“No _way_ did you ever work for The Man!” Lucy exclaimed. “They’d have fired you after two days! Heck, two _hours!_ ”

“Yeah, despite what TV shows tell us, I really don’t think the government wants crazy hacker chicks on their payroll.”

Grudgingly, Shaun said, “Actually, I rather agree with that. I honestly don’t think any government could keep you working within their guidelines.”

“Drink up, kids,” Rebecca smirked, “They couldn’t, but it took them a whole three months to figure it out. Oh, it was the third one, for the record.”

They all took their drinks. “Hang on,” Shaun said, “you really can’t taste blueberries? That’s a bit weird.”

“I know, right? It’s a genetic thing, apparently. Oh, and it’s your turn, Mr. Misery-Pants.”

“Yes, yes, I’m going. Let me think.” Shaun hated to admit it, but he was actually finding this game interesting. It was a good chance to learn about his coworkers, and, from an Assassin’s point of view, an excellent practical exercise in deception and reading body language. “So. One, I love foreign-language films. Two, I was star of my college – that’s high school to you Yanks – track team. Three, I’m not really British.”

“Whoa, okay, I’d say it has to be the last one but that’s too obvious and you _will_ be explaining after we guess,” Rebecca said. “And we already went over your strange love for all things Italian, so…the second one?”

“You are a subtle and untrustworthy man,” said Miles, “so I’m gonna say it’s the first.”

“I guess that makes me the tiebreaker,” said Lucy. “I agree that you’re pretty sneaky, Shaun, but I gotta go with Becca on this one.”

“Oddly enough, Miles got it right,” said Shaun, “but according to the rules you got it wrong as a group, so you have to drink anyway. And, as to your obvious question, my father was from Los Angeles, where my mother was living on a work visa when they met. So I was born a US Citizen, but they moved back to London to be near Mum’s family after my Granddad died, when I was five. I have dual citizenship.”

“Wow. And you really don’t like foreign-language films?” Asked Lucy.

“Not generally. I find them to be aesthetically wonderful, but the storylines tend to focus a lot on the Second World War, and when you’re a historian that feels a lot like work.”

By the time midnight rolled around, they’d gone through two more rounds of drinks and found out that Lucy was secretly addicted to Pokemon, Rebecca had never had a pet, Miles could recite the soliloquies from _Hamlet_ , Shaun loved superhero comics (especially Iron Man), Lucy was once arrested for vandalism (she’d spray-painted a giant cock on her first boyfriend’s BMW after he cheated on her), Rebecca had an irrational fear of cacti, Miles didn’t have a driver’s license (he had a motorcycle license, not the same thing), and Shaun had never read the Harry Potter books. To Shaun’s surprise, Miles turned out to be extremely adept at guessing the lies.

When the two waitresses started sweeping the floor and the bartender started closing out the register, they realized they were the last people left in the _taverna_. They downed what was left of their drinks and left, Miles with the waitress’ phone number, which she’d written on a napkin and tucked into his shirt pocket.

“That happen often?” Shaun asked as they walked up the main street toward the stairs to the Villa’s grounds.

“Often enough,” said Miles.

“Ever take them up on it?”

“Nah. I don’t really have trouble finding relationships. I don’t need the kind of thing that starts with me knowing her phone number before her name, y’know?”

“That’s right decent of you,” said Shaun, a bit surprised.

Miles gave him a wry grin and Shaun couldn’t help noticing that he had good teeth. “I’m not Ezio, man. I don’t try to seduce everything with two legs.”

 _And Caterina Sforza, Shaun’s major historical crush, walks into the room and she’s more beautiful than any woman has a right to be and from behind him he can hear Desmond moan and it takes all he has not to turn around and watch, digging his fingernails into his desk – Jesus stop thinking about it!_ Shaun hoped Miles would just chalk his blush up to the alcohol.

The girls were walking faster and in straighter lines than the two men, though Rebecca had downed more drinks than Lucy and Shaun put together. The woman had the tolerance of a Viking. By the time Shaun and Miles reached the bottom of the stairs that led up to the front of the Villa, the girls were nowhere to be seen.

When Miles tripped on the bottom step and nearly fell into the wall, Shaun’s first reaction was to snicker. “Need me to help you up the stairs, Mr. I-Run-Across-Rooftops-All-Night?”

Miles shook his head, leaning against the wall he’d almost tackled. “ _Non é la bevuta_ …shit, no, it’s not the drink.” He worked his way around the wall, keeping one hand on it for support, until he was in the alley off the main road, where he leaned his back against the wall and started rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

Shaun followed him into the shadows of the alley. “What’s the matter?”

“ _L’apparizione_ …no, ghosts…I mean the fucking bleeding effect, fuck…it’s getting worse lately...been happening almost every night, even though I try to stay awake. _Penso che_ it’s this place, being at _la villa, non c’é differenza_ …” he growled in frustration.

“Wait, it shows up when you’re awake, too?”

Miles nodded and immediately seemed to regret it, as he hissed in pain and his both his hands came up to his head. “ _La villa,_ is so close to how it was back then, I think it makes it easier for him to get in. I try to fight it, but holding it off for too long…if I let him in, let it happen, it’s fine, but concentrating like this, it… _fucking hurts_.” He slid down the wall and landed on the ground with a thump.

“Shit.” Shaun felt at a loss. He wasn’t qualified for this kind of thing. He was a glorified reference librarian, dammit! “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“If you can… _una sorpresa...forte emozione nel presente_ …”

“Um. Surprise? Strong emotion…oh, like a shock! Something to keep you grounded. Okay, okay, I can do that.” Shaun cast about for something to do that would surprise Miles, something not related to Ezio’s time. Maybe he could break a lightbulb on the nearest streetlamp, hope the flash of light would startle him out of it?

Meanwhile, Miles had curled in on himself. As Shaun contemplated the best route up the lamppost, the other man let out a whine of pain that threatened to build to a scream. That was the last thing they needed. Monteriggioni, with its old walls and new gates, was a quiet small town at night, and any disturbance would bring the rent-a-cop security guards running. Shaun crouched down in front of Miles and put a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve got to keep it together, just for a couple minutes.” Miles didn’t respond, just kept making painful-sounding incoherent noises.

Shaun glanced up at the streetlight again. It would take at least a minute for him to climb up there, and in that time Miles could start screaming, or possibly worse, become Ezio and run off. He couldn’t risk it. He dragged the other assassin back into a sitting position. “Fuck it,” he muttered, and kissed him full on the mouth.

Miles’ eyes flickered open for a moment, then, with a suddenness that made Shaun squeak in surprise, there was a taste of scotch on his lips, and strong arms found their way around the historian, one hand running fingers through his hair, the other finding its way to his lower back, sliding down…

But the hand stopped short, and the kiss was broken as instead it was laid flat on Shaun’s chest, pushing him firmly away. “Sorry!” He said, “Sorry, it’s just, you said you needed a shock, and there was no time and I panicked, and it was the first thing that I could think of and…and I know you’re not…that is, I hope it’s okay…no, that’s not…I’m going to stop talking now.”

Shaking his head, Miles let out a low laugh. “Shaun Hastings, lost for words. Mark the time and date, it’s a historical event! No, the kiss was fine. Just…I’m not really in any condition to be able to enjoy it, is all.” Indeed, he still looked much the worse for wear. There was a set to his jaw Shaun didn’t like, one he’d seen many times before on field operatives rescued from missions gone wrong. It was a signal of a suppressed pain reflex.

“Right. Of course. Let’s…get you back upstairs, then.”

Miles looked up the stairs with an expression like a man looking at a gallows. “I…I can’t. If I go back in that house, he’ll come back. I can’t fight him off again tonight, and I can’t just let the memories come. What if he remembers a contract and actually kills someone?” He shut his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. “I’m so fucking sick of all this. There are not words for how much I would like this to be done with, one way or another.”

Shaun punched him in the shoulder.

“Ow! What the hell?” Miles rubbed his shoulder, looking at Shaun with raised eyebrows.

“Every time you talk about giving up, I am going to hit you,” said Shaun. “Because one, Lucy would kill me if you managed to die under my supervision. Two, Rebecca would _also_ kill me. Three, I would miss having you around to shower with my scorn. And four, I’d…rather miss having you around in a general sort of way, as well. Now, what do you need to keep your head single-occupancy?”

Miles stood up, using the wall for support. “I need to go somewhere he wouldn’t have been, somewhere with lots of stuff from _now_ , if possible.”

Unsure, Shaun leaned against the opposite wall of the alley. “Well, we can’t leave town, and we can’t stay out here all night. I don’t know about you, but half a bottle of whiskey doesn’t exactly make me want to pull an all-nighter, and I’m not that keen on sleeping rough. But I won’t leave you out here alone, either.”

Miles looked skeptical. “I’d have thought you’d like nothing more than to lose me and never have to endure my stupid questions again.”

Shaun shook his head emphatically. “No. Whether I like you or not has nothing to do with it. You’re an Assassin now, which means you’re one of us, which means you don’t get left behind when you need help. It’s like family. You might think your brother is the stupidest human ever to waste air by breathing, but if he calls you for help, you go.”

Too late, Shaun remembered Miles’ background file. He winced as the man got a faraway look on his face. “So that’s what family’s like,” Miles murmured. “Sounds nice.”

With a huff, Shaun stood upright and offered Miles a hand. “It is, rather. So come along, you massive waste of oxygen. I think there’s an inn in town that’ll let us pay cash.”


	5. Sweet Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaun and Desmond make the most of having a hotel room to themselves!

I Know You Know: Chapter 5

Back down the main street they went, Shaun supporting most of Miles’ weight by ducking under his arm and letting him use his shoulders for balance. With that much contact, Shaun could feel him shaking like he’d been after waking from the dream-memory, with the occasional twinge or flinch at whatever pain he was feeling.

The desk clerk at the inn took one look at them and smiled. “ _Troppo bevuta, si?_ ” She asked.

“ _Si,_ ” said Shaun. “ _Non possiamo guidare. Ha una camera? Due lette_.”

“ _Si si. Solo una notte?_ ”

Shaun nodded. The clerk typed away on her computer for a minute, then handed him a card key. Good sign for the modern conveniences part of Miles’ request.

By the time he got Miles up the stairs to the inn’s second floor, the nice new shirt the girls had bought was nearly soaked with sweat. Negotiating the door was an adventure, as it was only wide enough for one person to pass through at a time, but finally they were in the room.

It was small, typically so for an Italian hotel, the two beds taking up nearly the entire space, but recently renovated, with energy-efficient bulbs in the lamps, a flatscreen TV, and a glassed-in shower and separate tub in the marble-floored bathroom. Miles made a beeline for the toilet, where he commenced retching his guts out so hard Shaun thought he might turn inside out. The historian ran cold water into a glass and set it on the bathroom counter, then went to more thoroughly investigate the room. There were two courtesy bathrobes of fine Italian fabric in the wardrobe, and a well-stocked minibar was hidden under the desk. He took out one of the small bottles of ginger ale and checked on Miles, setting the soda next to the glass of water. Though the picture of misery, wrapped around the toilet like it was his best friend, the man managed a nod when Shaun asked if he was going to be okay, so he went to the room phone and dialed the payphone nearest the villa. Rebecca had rigged a line so that calls to that number were instead routed to her workstation. After ten rings, he was ready to hang up, but then there was the click of the receiver being picked up and Rebecca’s voice, slightly slurred, said “Aaaaaaay, where’d you guys go?”

“Listen, ‘Becca,” Shaun started.

“What? What’s up?” Immediately she sounded much more sober. Him using her nickname was their code for, “Something’s up but don’t tell Lucy.”

“Miles had an episode of the bleeding effect and it’s really hitting him hard. He says it’s because of the villa, it brings back memories for Ezio. So we’re spending the night in town. I need you to put some clothes and things in a backpack for us, and tell Lucy something. Maybe tell her he’s teaching me to climb buildings. Anyway tell her we’ll be back late. Leave the pack out front and I’ll come get it.”

“You sure hiding this is a good idea? Lu’d be fuckin’ pissed if she found out. It’s totally against the rules to split the team up, even if you are just across town.”

He knew Rebecca was right to be worried, but he couldn’t bring himself to match her concern. “No, I’m not sure at all, but you know what? I don’t care. Lucy might, _might_ let him stay in town if we asked, and if you two came down here, but I wouldn’t put it past her not to make him stick around the villa anyway. You know how she is, everything must be done on schedule and according to protocol. But Miles doesn’t need protocol, he needs to not think about the villa, or work, if he can help it, to avoid triggering another episode. He asked for my help on this, ‘Becca, and now I’m asking for yours.”

There was a sigh on the other end of the line. “Oh, _hell_ , Shaun. Fine. Your stuff’ll be by the front door.”

Shaun took one of the courtesy robes out and hung it on the hook on the back of the bathroom door. Miles had finished throwing up and was leaning on the counter, splashing cold water on his face. Shaun wrinkled his nose and said, “You should probably, and by that I mean definitely, shower. I’m running back up the hill to grab some stuff for us. Clean clothes and the like. Rebecca’s covering for us with Lucy. I figure if we sneak in sometime before dawn tomorrow we can just act like we were there all night.” Miles gave him a thumbs up and took a swig from the small bottle of mouthwash provided by the hotel.

Making sure to take the card key with him, Shaun jogged back up the hill to the villa. He hadn’t been lying about being a track star when he was younger, and he’d kept up his running regimen his whole life, finding time to run a few kilometers and do floor exercises every day with a strictness of routine rivaled only by the military. In the past few weeks he’d been letting it slide in favor of spending the time on work, but it still took only a handful of minutes for him to jog up to the villa, sneak in, grab the backpack, and jog back down to the inn.

The shower was running when he returned to the room, and he could hear humming coming from the bathroom, which after a few seconds of listening turned out to be “Speak Softly, Love,” from _The Godfather_. That was a good sign, it meant Miles had neither fainted nor turned into someone else while he was gone. He set the backpack on the desk chair and pulled out the things he’d brought, which included some extra-strength painkillers.

“Those for me?” A deep voice came from right behind him, and a tanned arm reached past to grab the bottle of pills. Shaun nearly jumped out of his skin. He hadn’t even heard the water turn off, and certainly hadn’t heard Miles cross the room. _Like working with a bloody cat_. “Oh, the good stuff too, nice.” Shaun turned around to see Miles, still damp from the shower, clad only in a towel, twist the top off the bottle and tip a pair of capsules into his hand. The welts across his torso from the dream-memory’s side effects were almost healed, so that if Shaun hadn’t known they were there he wouldn’t have noticed the few reddish spots still remaining. His eyes locked onto those muscles as they moved under tanned skin. Miles had continued his training, that much was obvious, as the little extra body fat he’d had in the warehouse had melted entirely away.

Then the man turned around and _ooooh God_ , he hadn’t been kidding in the bar when he said he had a back piece. Shaun had gotten impressions of what it might be, catching glimpses of Miles’ workouts back in the warehouse, but this was the first he’d seen of it up close. A pair of golden eagle’s wings, rendered in stunning detail, spread from the inside edges of his shoulder blades and covered most of his upper back. The two small tattoos were visible as well, little black feathers inked low, _very_ low, on either side. For a moment Shaun couldn’t help himself, his hand lifted and he wanted so badly to touch those wings. Then reality came crashing back in and he forced his arm back down, gripping the edge of the desk instead.

Surveying the things Shaun had brought, Miles grabbed the extra boxers from the stack of his clothes and pulled them on under the towel, tossing the fluffy white cover into the bathroom. Now Shaun could see the size of the bulge at the front of those shorts, which wasn’t helping him in the battle he was fighting, and rapidly losing, with his libido. He knew Miles was probably still feeling unwell, but hell, it had been _months_. In fact, nearly a year. There was not a damn thing he could do about the fact that his body was perfectly well aware that he was alone in a room with an attractive, nearly-naked man.

Miles turned back around and caught him staring, just for a moment, before he could tear his eyes away and focus resolutely on the wall. But then he realized that was probably suspicious too, so he started pulling his sweater off, figuring the sooner they were both in bed, in _separate beds_ with the lights out, the better.

As he tugged the sweater over his head, a pair of large hands caught his wrists. “Shaun,” said Miles’ voice, muffled by the layer of wool between them.

“Yes?” Shaun said, his voice coming out in a higher register than he’d intended.

“Earlier, you said kissing me was the first thing that came to mind.” One hand disappeared from his wrists and found its way down, brushing lightly over his abs before taking hold of the bottom of his sweater.

“Y-yes,” Shaun squeaked, not quite sure whether this was really happening, or whether he’d fallen asleep suddenly and was now having an extremely vivid dream.

The hem of his sweater was pulled up until it no longer covered his face. “Has it come to mind before?”

“Posssssibly,” said Shaun, hissing the middle of the word as the taller man leaned in to plant the lightest of touches, no more than a butterfly’s landing, with his lips to the soft skin behind his ear.

“Now remember, Hastings, I can tell when you’re lying,” Miles rumbled in his ear.

“Yes,” Shaun said quickly, “yes it has.”

“And if I were to tell you the same thing has come to my mind?”

The kisses, each no more than a feather’s touch, were working their way down the side of Shaun’s neck. He wasn’t entirely sure his knees would stay solid much longer if this kept up. So he slid his arms out of the sleeves of his sweater, leaving Miles holding the empty fabric, and wrapped them around the man’s naked torso, taking time to slide his fingers over the contours of muscle and bone, gratified by the little shiver the motion elicited. “I’d say what took you so bloody long.”

Miles let the sweater drop and caught his hands as they headed downwards. “Oh, you know, kidnapped, brain used as a time machine, the usual.” Shaun started to laugh, but then Miles was kissing him and all his other thoughts went flying out of his head, his world contracted to the points of contact between them.

Kissing Miles was intoxicating, like taking a breath of air after being underwater for a few seconds too long, or drinking a sip of really, really fine wine after only ever having the cheap stuff. And, at the same time, it was exhilarating, like driving just a bit too fast down the freeway, or running outside in a thunderstorm to scream back at the sky.

Somehow, Shaun wasn’t sure how, they ended up on the bed nearest the window, Miles lying on top of him. The man’s hands slid under his t-shirt, working it upwards slowly, sliding over his ribs and up his arms. The American raised an eyebrow, “You’ve got some pretty good muscles on you, for a nerd,” he said.

“Kindly remember that I’m still an assassin, thank you very much. I may not actually go out and stab people, but I have to go through training just like all the rest.”

“Wow. Sorry to ruffle your feathers,” said Miles. “I just never think of you as doing anything but reading boring history stuff.”

“Oh, _really_? Not even this?” said Shaun, sliding a hand around the back of Miles’ neck and pulling him in for another kiss. The one remaining thought in Shaun’s head, brought on by the taste of mouthwash on Miles’ lips, annoying but persistent, broke into his concentration and he made himself pull back. “Miles,” he said, panting a little, “are you sure you’re up to this? You were in such a bad way, earlier…”

Miles actually considered the question, eyes unfocusing a little as he evaluated, and Shaun nearly kicked himself for ruining the best opportunity he was likely to get, well, _ever_ , but to his eternal relief those beautiful rich brown eyes refocused on him and Miles nodded, grinning. “I’m feeling much better now. Being around stuff that’s from _now_ , it helps a lot. And you’re not doing such a bad job of keeping me in the moment, yourself. So, for once in your life, just stop talking, all right?”

Shaun opened his mouth to reply and Miles put his finger to his lips, so he took it into his mouth and wrapped his tongue around it. Miles chuckled and reclaimed the digit, leaning in for another kiss. As Miles’ hands drifted down to his belt buckle, Shaun moved to help, but Miles stopped him, pinning his wrists above his head with one hand. With the other, Miles pulled the belt through its loops, and he was about to drop it on the floor when a mischievous look came into his eye. Quicker than Shaun could follow, he looped the leather around the historian’s wrists and tied the loose end securely to the wrought iron headboard of the bed.

“What are you on about?” Shaun protested, albeit weakly as now Miles was working on unbuttoning his pants.

“I figure,” those perfect teeth nipped at his collarbone, “you’ve been watching me,” Shaun’s breath hitched as the teeth found one of his nipples, “stuck in that damn chair,” the button finally came free and the zipper quickly followed. Miles tugged, and Shaun lifted his hips a little to slide out of his pants, “for months,” now Miles was sitting up, straddling his legs, one hand sliding up his abs.

“So now,” he continued, bending over to make a circle around Shaun’s bellybutton with his tongue, hot breath washing over skin making the historian’s back arch, “it’s your turn,” fingernails scratched lightly down his side, fingers hooking into the waistband of his boxers, “to not be able to move,” the American finished, looking up at Shaun with an absolutely wicked grin on his face.

It was all Shaun could do to keep from whimpering like a dog, he was so hard. “F-fair en-nough,” he managed.

“Glad you see it that way,” murmured the Most Frustrating Man in the World, having worked his way back up to nibble at Shaun’s earlobe.

This was getting to be too much. “Miles, p- _please_ ,” Shaun breathed, arms already starting to feel a bit sore from the involuntary tension he was putting against the makeshift restraint.

To his despair, Miles sat up, hands on his hips. “That’s not my name, Shaun. You don’t hear me calling you ‘Hastings’ all the time, do you?”

“God, Miles, _please_ not now…”

“What’s my name?”

In any other situation, and maybe even five minutes ago, Shaun would’ve held onto his British Prep School form of address, but he was way past caring now. “Please, don’t stop… _Desmond_ ,” he begged.

“Ah, see, I knew you could get it,” Desmond grinned and bent down to kiss him on the lips, gently but thoroughly, and then drew back slightly to look Shaun in the eyes, one hand coming up to run through his hair as the other finally, _finally_ went below the line of the panting historian’s boxers.

Fingers ghosted down the side of Shaun’s erection, each touch, light though they were, sending sparks of electricity up his spine. The hand left, but only for a moment, pulling his shorts down before returning to its previous position. Slowly, one by one, Desmond wrapped his fingers around, and when the last one was in place he gave a little squeeze that made Shaun gasp and buck his hips.

“God, you’re _ready_ ,” said Desmond, evil grin still in place. He started stroking, slowly, steadily, and even that small amount of motion was nearly enough to finish Shaun off it had been so _fucking long_. Desmond shifted his weight and sat up again. “I wanna see you,” he murmured, resting his free hand on Shaun’s stomach. His strokes got a little faster, a little stronger, and Shaun’s hands clenched into fists as his breathing sped up to match Desmond’s rhythm.

Desmond watched the historian’s reactions like a hawk, slowing down whenever it seemed like he was about to finish, until he had Shaun drenched in sweat and writhing against the blankets, hands wrapped around the iron of the headboard for purchase, arms shaking from the strain but not wanting it to ever, _ever_ stop. So of course, just when he was about to finally come, it stopped.

Shaun’s eyes snapped open and he was getting ready to complain when he saw _why_ Desmond’s hand had suddenly disappeared. The man was in the process of putting on a condom, where he’d gotten it Shaun couldn’t guess, but that wasn’t what was on his mind. What _was_ on his mind was the size of Desmond’s erection. It had to be at least eight inches. As he finished unrolling the latex, Shaun protested halfheartedly, “I don’t know if I can handle that, Mi-Desmond, it’s been a while…”

“You can always say stop,” Desmond said, and with another of his too-fast-to-see movements, he hooked a leg and easily flipped the smaller man over so that he was kneeling, hands still securely tied to the headboard.

He pushed a finger, slick with lube from the condom package, into Shaun, going slowly just as he’d promised. “That okay?” he asked. Shaun nodded, teeth gritted against the burn. The first finger was joined by a second, and this time Shaun couldn’t help letting out a little hiss at the sensation. Desmond’s free hand traced down his spine, soothing. “Christ, you’re tight,” he said, “weren’t kidding when you said it’d been a long time, huh?”

Shaun shook his head, concentrating on relaxing around Desmond’s fingers. Desmond started to work on him, pushing in and pulling out in tiny increments at first, then bigger motions as he finally started to relax. When the third finger entered him, there was barely any burn at all and he was pressing back against Desmond’s hand. Obliging, Desmond curled his fingers just _so_ , making Shaun arch his back and let out a long, low moan. “I-I don’t know if I can hold on m-much longer...” After a few seconds, the fingers withdrew and he felt Desmond’s tip press up against him. He steadied himself against the headboard, just in time, as with one thrust the man pushed his full length inside. “Ah, _God!_ ” Shaun yelped, muscles locking up for a second before he remembered to breathe. The preparation had spared him the worst of the pain, but there was nothing that could prepare a man to be fucked by eight inches after months of nothing at all.

Desmond froze, and asked, “You good?”

After a couple deep breaths, Shaun nodded. “Didn’t say stop, did I?”

He could hear the smile in Desmond’s voice as he replied, “Not in so many words, no.” He moved his hips forward a little and Shaun did his best to relax into the motion, swearing eloquently under his breath. Soon, desire overwhelmed hesitation and Desmond’s strokes lengthened, Shaun rocking back in counterpoint. They increased their rhythm together, without needing to say anything. The last of the burn faded into the background and Shaun soon found himself asking for more, his back curved, belt cutting into his wrists as his hands tried to move but couldn’t. Desmond leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Shaun’s torso, one hand stroking him in time to their breathing, the other sliding up his arm to overlay his grip on the headboard, breath tickling his ear.

Right at the end Desmond sank his teeth into Shaun’s shoulder, making the historian cry out, and then the rush of orgasm flooded in and Shaun could’ve sworn he blacked out for a second. He gasped and shuddered with each wave of pleasure, savoring every moment, every small sensation, the feel of Desmond’s fingers interlaced with his own, each holding on tight to the other’s hand.

When it was over they were both still for a few seconds, panting. Then, slowly, Desmond pulled out, keeping contact with a hand in the middle of Shaun’s back. Shaun heard the covers rustle and then a hand reached over his shoulder and untied the belt from the headboard, freeing his arms. He turned over to face Desmond as he rubbed at his wrists, chafed from the edges of the leather.

Desmond took one of his hands and planted a light kiss on the raw skin. “Sorry about that,” he said, kissing the other wrist as well.

“Small price to pay,” Shaun replied, still a bit breathless. “ _trust_ me.” He rolled his head back, easing the tension in his shoulders. Desmond leaned in and licked a bead of sweat from his exposed neck, making him shiver. “Not too much more of that, Desmond, unless you’re ready for another go,” he said, not entirely protesting.

Reluctantly, Desmond backed off, “Not tonight,” he said, and a sudden yawn caught him before he could finish his sentence. “You can probably tell why,” he said, shaking his head.

Shaun had to admit that his own body was now demanding sleep rather forcefully, the heavy feeling that had been behind his eyes for the last few days having made a stealthy return. “Haven’t been sleeping much, meaning not at all, am I right?”

Desmond looked surprised. “Yeah, how did you…ah, right. Guillaume. So the trick works for you too, huh?”

Nodding, Shaun sat up and stretched. “Been working myself into a stupor and grabbing an hour or two at a time. Which reminds me, I’ve two messages to send that can’t wait any longer.”

“Always work with you people. And here I was thinking I’d finally managed to get your full attention.”

“Oh, you have,” Shaun assured him, reaching out to rest his hands on Desmond’s shoulders. “But…well, this is what it’s like. Being an assassin, I mean, especially being a field historian like I am. There’s always someone out there waiting to hear from you, for one reason or another. You of all people should know that, Desmond. You’ve seen what it’s like to be the Mentor.”

With a sigh, Desmond got to his feet and sat on the other bed. “I know. It just…sucks. I’m starting to see that there’s literally no time to yourself in the Order. But I get it.”

Shaun got up as well, picking his pants up off the floor and fishing his radio out of the pocket. “It’s not always like that,” he said. “You’ve only seen it in three unusually fraught time periods: Altair’s, Ezio’s, and ours. Lu and Rebecca and I were all recruited years before Abstergo created the Animus, and things were calmer then.”

“You’ll have to tell me about it. I can’t imagine an assassin’s life ever being calm, even when things are just normal.”

“All right, for certain values of calm. Nothing like this, anyway. Speaking of which, I really do have to send those notes.”

“Sure.” Desmond went back into the bathroom and the sink started running.

Shaun winced. He knew the man was hurt that work would occur to him at such a time. In fact, he knew _exactly_ how Desmond felt; he’d gone through the same thing when he was a recruit and dating above his rank. Even on nights that were supposed to be just for them, the more senior Assassin would sometimes slip out of the movie theater or restaurant, ostensibly to get a refill of his drink or use the restroom, and come back a few minutes later, slightly out of breath, or with his shirt rumpled where before it had been smooth. Shaun learned not to ask. And then, later, as he moved up the ranks on his way to becoming an Assassin in his own right, he learned why it was necessary to place personal life near the bottom of priority lists. Desmond may have had the vicarious experience of Ezio’s memories, but even that wasn’t comparable to actually _living_ it, day by day, with all the little responsibilities that seemed trivial but, if unfulfilled, could lead to disaster for fellow members of the Order. And sometimes it came down to a choice between living with that on one’s conscience, or reneging on personal commitments and soothing the hurt feelings later. Which, while unpleasant and upsetting, was in the end no choice at all.

Dialing his radio to Rebecca’s frequency, Shaun grabbed the second robe from the closet and put it on. Even knowing she couldn’t see him, he would’ve felt weird talking to her naked. “This is Bayeaux for Sandhill, requesting a favor, over.”

“This is Sandhill. How’s it going, Bayeaux? Over.” She was sticking to codenames, which meant Lucy was around.

“Not too bad. Townshend is doing well, so we’re going to hang out in town a little longer. But I need a favor, I’ve left some work on my computer. Can you send a couple messages for me?”

“Sure.” As the tech expert assigned to the Italy/Abstergo missions, Rebecca knew everyone’s login information and sent regular reports back to the Mentor. They mostly consisted of the phrase “NTR,” Nothing to Report, but it was the one piece of protocol she stuck to rigorously of her own accord. IT security was extremely important to her, and as the one who programmed most of the Order’s computers, a point of personal pride as well.

“Great. They’re in my drafts. I owe you one.”

“No prob.” There were a few seconds of silence. “Hey, these were marked to be sent an hour ago. Why didn’t you call earlier?”

“I was…distracted.”

“Tsk, not like you to be late. Slipping, are we?”

“Sandhill, I don’t _have_ to keep buying you chocolate gelato when it’s my turn to do the shopping.”

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, man. They’re on their way now. Hey, Lu, this is _my_ -” Rebecca’s voice cut off.

“Bayeaux, this is Walden. Where the hell are you guys?”

“Didn’t Sandhill tell you? I bet Townshend I could beat him to the front door from the bottom of the steps, so now he has to teach me some of his climbing and such. We’ll be back in time to get some sleep, don’t worry.”

“Okay, fine. Just make sure you get back here pretty soon. I don’t like keeping us split up this long.”

“Sure thing. See you in the morning, Walden. Bayeaux out.” He switched his radio off before Lucy could reply.

Desmond had come back into the room while he talked to the girls, and was under the covers, pretending to be asleep. Shaun moved to stand over him. He had one last whim to indulge before trying for some sleep himself. He climbed in next to Desmond, the other man making room for him despite not turning to look at him. Reaching out, Shaun placed his hands on the man’s back, one over each wing, and stroked outward. The artistry was such that he almost expected to feel feathers instead of skin.

Sighing, Desmond turned over. With the light shining into them, Shaun could see flecks of gold in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know the work is important.”

Shaun shook his head. “I should have explained before. Normally I would have. But with everything you do so easily, casing the crowd at the tavern earlier, that jump off the cliff when we got here…I keep forgetting you’re actually still a recruit. With a capital ‘R’ and everything. And you don’t even know about the ranks yet, so that means nothing to you. But you haven’t lived the life. And, well, until you…started things, I hadn’t realized you were…that is, I thought you…oh, bollocks, I’m going to need to start that sentence over.”

Laughing, Desmond said, “No, I get it. You thought I was straight, right? I get it. I certainly don’t give off any signals otherwise. But you forget, I had to live off the grid for a long time. The way I dress, the way I act, call it straight or mainstream or whatever, it’s mostly a defense mechanism. Nobody pays attention to some guy walking down the street in jeans and a sweatshirt. I’m not anything so traditional. One thing about staying off the grid, you end up hanging out with some pretty open-minded people. Made it easy to find stuff out about myself. I like girls, sure, and guys too. Nothing wrong with that.”

“Odd view for an American.”

Desmond shrugged, shifting to get more comfortable. “I’ve never been a normal American, so I wouldn’t know. But yeah, I get the feeling it’s not the majority opinion in the good ol’ US of A. Though we are the country that brought the world the Kinsey scale, so there is that.”

Shaun yawned, reaching behind himself to turn off the lamp. “You Yanks are so strange. So much potential and so many wasted possibilities in one nation.”

“Yeah, well,” Desmond slid his arm under Shaun’s shoulders. “It’s a big country. Trust me, I’ve walked most of it.”

“’ave to tell me ‘bout it sometime,” Shaun murmured, sleep overtaking him fast now that the room was dark.

They fell asleep with hands linked, and for the first time in many nights, neither of them worried about what they’d find waiting once they woke.


End file.
